


A Profane Hallelujah

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [160]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 02:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “This isn’t you, Cas.”





	A Profane Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Love spell. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

“This isn’t you, Cas.”

Cas snorts and shoves his tongue in Dean’s mouth again, works his hand up higher under Dean’s t-shirt and up the hot lines of his back. Which isn’t really an answer but then again, Dean hadn’t actually managed a question. That he can still talk is kind of a miracle, frankly, what with 150 pounds of lit-up ex-angel holding Dean fast in his lap, rolling his hips and petting Dean’s skin and kissing like he’ll never get enough.

It’s not like Dean objects to the whole scenario, hell no; it’s basically ticking the boxes of every secret wish, every shameful thought he’s been carrying around for years--shameful because there was something weird about lusting after a being of light who just happened to be wearing a human suit and who didn’t really understand anything about humans despite spending millennia spying on them from above. And then there’d come a time when they’d been through too much, he and Cas, had to build and rebuild their friendship, their trust, for him to think that adding _hey I kind of love you_ to the mix would not majorly FUBAR things and so, no, he’d never said a damn thing.

But Cas is human now, freed from his grace and his wings, from the fluffy politics of the hereafter, and they live in the same space and Dean’s seen him half-naked at the breakfast table more times than he can count and ok, maybe, _maybe_ Dean’s started thinking about it again in earnest lately--what would happen if he went to Cas’s room one night after lights out and sat on the edge of his bed and tried to say all the schmoopy crap he’d kept dammed up for so long.

What he hadn’t thought about, though, had never even considered, was the possibility that Cas would knock something over while he was rustling through one of the dozens of rooms they didn’t use, something sealed up tight but apparently not tight enough, and that was as much of the story as Cas had spit out before he hauled Dean over to his side of the couch and into his lap and he’d pulled Dean’s hair, dug his nails into the back of Dean’s neck and arched up to meet him and the first time their mouths met, it was like swallowing fire, and the part of Dean that knew something was wrong, that something in this scenario was seriously un-right, went up in smoke.

Mostly it did. Mostly. But this was Cas, his best friend, his goddamn responsibility, and if he was acting under the influence of a fairy in a bottle or something, Dean was not gonna take advantage of that, no matter how fucking good it felt to have Cas clutching his ass, to have him groaning in primary colors and lifting his hips to rub his stiff cock against Dean’s.

Oh, god.

“Cas,” Dean gets out, his hands scrabbling at Cas’s shoulders. “Hey, hey, Cas, hang on.”

Cas palms one of Dean’s thighs and kisses him again, opens his mouth and draws Dean down in and holy crap, Cas is good at this; knew just where to squeeze and just when to breathe and the little sounds he’s making, these fast, desperate pants, make Dean feel a little crazy, like maybe he should quit worrying about ethics and let Cas have whatever this mojo is telling him he should want.

“I want to be inside you,” Cas says, a half whisper, half groan. “Would you like that, Dean?”

_Fuck_.

“Ok, ok,” Dean says, pushing off the back of the sofa and ripping himself from the gravity well that is Cas's illegally gorgeous mouth. “Time out, Sparky.” He cups Cas’s cheek. “Buddy, come on. Something’s wrong. This isn’t you.”

Cas blinks up at him, those blue eyes gone bright and wild. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because you got mojo’d, remember? You said you broke something--”

The hand on Dean’s thigh starts to drift. “I knocked it over.”

“Yeah, and then you ran out here to tell me and the next thing I know, you’re a grabby octopus and we’re--”

“We’re what?”

“We’re, ah, this. Making out.”

Cas’s thumb traces the strain of Dean’s zipper. “Mmmm. You like it, though.”

Dean’s hips kick, his cock does, the damn thing doing its best to burn straight through denim. “No shit,” he manages, “but that’s not really the question, is it? The question is, do you? Is this something you really want or is it that the sex genie you uncorked is messing with your head?”

Castiel laughs, a warm and frankly fucking delightful sound that Dean would like to hear again, please. “There’s no such thing as a sex genie.”

“Isn’t there? _Shit_.” Cas’s whole hand is on him now, a sweet pressure that Dean can’t help but push into. "Oh fuck.”

That gets him a squeeze, a kiss on the tip of his chin. “If there’s anything here that isn’t me,” Cas murmurs, “it’s only kindling, feeding the fires of what I already want--what I’ve always wanted.”

“And what’s that?”

Cas sighs, a deep and abiding noise that shakes Dean down to his bones. “I love you with all that I am," Cas says, "with all that I have been, all that I might ever be, and I have always wanted you to love me.”

Something slips out of Dean’s mouth, a profane hallelujah, and then their mouths are smashed together and Dean is tearing at Cas’s shirt and Cas is battling Dean’s zipper and oh, hell, the first time Dean comes, he creams Cas’s fist like a teenager who’s never been touched, big, messy spurts of spunk catch Cas’s bare belly and Cas watches him with something like wonder, a look that doesn’t fade until Dean is on his back and Cas pushes that last little bit in and then Cas whimpers and whispers something in a language Dean doesn’t know, doesn’t need to, because the look in Cas’s eyes bellows  _love_.

He comes again like that, with a hand on his cock and Cas buried inside him, his face tucked against Dean’s neck and his hips working hard and impatient, and when Cas stutters, when his body freezes in this still, perfect arch, Dean kisses him through it, clutches at Castiel’s hair and tells him to breathe, to never let go, never stop filling him with such beautiful heat.

After, Cas is a sweet, heavy mess, and he clings to Dean, humming, his fingers wandering peacefully over Dean’s chest. They should get up, Dean knows; should take the party behind somebody’s closed door so Sam doesn’t come home and find them like this, jeans around their ankles and everything about them screaming _spent_. But Cas is so pleasantly heavy, his skin sticky and warm, that it’s easier for Dean to close his eyes and pet the back of Castiel’s neck than to worry. Hell, they’ve both done enough of that.”

“Cas?”

Cas stirs a little. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

Cas’s fingers cage Dean’s heart and squeeze gently back. “Good.”

“But hey, no more cleaning duty for you, ok?”

“Mmmm,” Cas says with a smile, one he leans up to brush over Dean’s mouth. “If you insist.”


End file.
